


Can't Be Without You

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Emotional Dean, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 04:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11959410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: Cas is gone. Which makes it the perfect time for Dean to say all the things he's been holding back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sam661187](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam661187/gifts).



> Hello :)
> 
> This is set at the end of 12x23, to the prompt of 'Jack brings Cas back as Dean sobs over his body' (prompter...you know who you are... ;) )
> 
> I... meant to make this happier, honest I did. It does have a hopeful ending though, I promise! It's in two parts; I'll post them on consecutive days.
> 
> Bekki, my lovely, this is for you; if it's... too angsty, drop me a message (and preferably a prompt), and I'll rectify it with some fluff ;) big hugs for you xx

The silence of the night is… deafening.

Sam’s footsteps as he races towards the house, the insects chirping out across the lake; even Dean’s own sluggish, reluctantly-stirring heartbeat registers nothing. There is no sound here. Nothing but the emptiness of sorrows, and words too late to ever be said.

The thud of his knees as they hit the dirt, the smarting of his lip from Lucifer’s fist—maybe even his foot; neither of them register for Dean. How can any wound ever hurt as much as the one that’s laid out before him? What is there left in this world that can cause him any further pain now?

Cas…

He looks so peaceful. And if that isn’t a hateful, sickening word. Cas is anything but peaceful. Cas is chaos, Cas is otherworldly, Cas is… never coming back.

The air is punched from Dean’s lungs, as the reality that Cas is really, truly, honestly gone this time, strikes him square in the chest.

All those words he’s been saving. All the things he’s been rehearsing on loop in his head, waiting for the ever-elusive perfect moment to reveal to Cas all he’s feeling. All of that; all of that’s for nothing now. All because he waited, far too long.

Did Cas ever get any of his gestures? The teasing, flirting, blatant jealousy he couldn’t hide when anyone dared pay him any attention. The touches, the looks that said all those things he wanted to say out loud but wasn’t brave enough to voice. The air freshener he kept buying Cas because he found him furiously debating the choices at a service station once. That he always ate his fries that little bit slower, because he knew Cas would steal them if he left enough on the plate. And that mixtape, god, that mixtape; surely Cas knew what kind of gesture that was he was making? Surely all his pop culture uploads would have at least given him a clue on that?

What if it didn’t? Dean curses himself, a desperate gasp threatening its way up his throat. What if he never knew, never noticed, never realised—

That gasp blasts its way out, and that silence is broken by the violence of his own tears.

“Cas?” he calls, and why shouldn’t it sound uncertain? How many times has Cas died on him before, yet still managed to find his way back?  

Is this really, really happening?

Dean looks about him, searching for the joke, waiting for someone, perhaps Gabriel to pop up out of nowhere and yell _surprise_ , announce the corpse laid out in front of him is nothing but an illusion, or something that can be easily conjured back to life.

But no one’s coming, Dean thinks, his heart beginning to beat desperately as he turns his head left and right, even up to the sky as though Chuck might put in an appearance and bring Cas back to him.  

Someone’s got to bring Cas back to him. They’ve got to.

Silence returns to the air around him, and a coolness sweeps in, drying the tears on his cheeks into thin, cracked lines he keeps reopening with fresh ones.

No one’s coming. No one’s coming to bring him back.

“Cas…” Dean calls again, broken, softer, bending over a little, and after hesitating, splaying his hand over his chest. He’s warm, Dean thinks, choking up again, he’s still warm. How can anything that warm and vital beneath his palm be so lifeless, look as though it is carved of actual stone?

“Cas…”

How many times is he going to call his name without hearing an answer. How many times has he tried to talk to him, but the look on his face has got the words stuck in his throat. How many times have people, or circumstances, or even his own god damn bad sense of timing been the thing to put a stop to his words? All of them, Dean thinks with a blast of laughter. All of them, and now? Well, now it’s too late to say just about anything.

Which for Dean in his own warped wisdom means, that now, is the perfect time.

“I missed you, Cas,” he says, splaying his fingers a little wider, because he can do that now. He smiles as his lip trembles, taking a moment to turn over the lapel of Cas' trenchcoat, and flatten down that godawful tie.

“When you were gone, and I… I couldn’t get through to you, I imagined… I thought all kindsa things. I… I prob’ly prayed a bunch of crap at you too, and I don’t know if you got any ‘o that along with all those messages that you… that… that you didn’t answer…

“Why didn’t you answer me, Cas?”

Dean slumps forward, his head hovering over Cas’ torso, tears dropping to wick into the white of his shirt, and Dean sweeps his hand up as though that might take them away. All it does is remind him that beneath his skin is a no-longer ticking heart.

“Cas…” he cries again, doubling up with the pain in his gut, and because there’s no one to judge him, or make him judge himself for his actions, Dean lets himself topple forward. Allows his forehead to make contact with his chest. And if that wasn’t the worst decision he could be making here, Dean thinks, tears pulsing from his eyes on breathing in the scent of him.

“You know,” Dean says, muffled at first because his face is still pressed against him, “this is gonna sound all kindsa weird, and creepy. But when I… when I got your… your first trenchcoat, when you… when I…”

But tears take over him again, and now he’s making things worse. Pressing his forehead just beneath his sternum and shaking his head back and forth is scattering his tears everywhere. If Cas were to wake now, what would he think?

Dean forces himself back onto his knees at that, wipes a furious hand over his eyes, but not because he’s hiding how he’s feeling now, after everything. It’s because if he’s gonna say these things to Cas, he wants to look at him when he’s saying them, not hide them from him. Even if he can no longer hear them, or even look back.

“You deserve better than that, Cas,” Dean says, and though it’s far too late to be saying such things, it makes him feel better for voicing them.  

“Thing is,” Dean adds, pressing the heel of his hand over each eye in turn to stop a fresh burst of tears, “I always thought… I always figured I’d have time to tell you, like… everything that’s going on with me. Not that—I mean; there’s not really anything going on with me, I’m just… I’m…”

But Dean knows he’s out of excuses. And if he can’t get all these words out that Cas has every right to hear, now, of all times…

Dean’s thoughts and words fail him yet again, and he presses a thumb and finger over his eyes, pleading with himself to keep speaking.

“You’ve… you need to… you’ve gotta know how I’m feeling about all this,” Dean says then, hearing pleading in his own voice and cursing all over again. Because what if he didn’t know?

“‘Cos if you didn’t know,” Dean huffs, debating for a second then allowing his hand to press back down on Cas' chest again, “then either, I need to work on my game here, or you need to… you need to get better at figuring me out, okay? ‘Cos I’m not… I can’t… why’d you think I did all ‘o that life lesson crap with you anyway, huh?” he blasts out then, hearing accusation in his voice, and pulling back with a groan for himself.

“I wasn’t… I know what I said… what I did,” he says, swallowing with difficulty, “but I was just… I was hoping all o’ that stuff would make you realise what I was doing. What I was… what I was too much of a coward to just come out and say,”

As though the thought has just occurred to him, Dean trails his fingers gently along the arm down by Cas’ side. His breath skips as he gets to the cuff of the trenchcoat, and then he’s stroking over his skin, and that it’s still warm brings an assault of wishful thinking for Dean. Of all the times he’s wanted to touch him. All the times he’s wanted to do something as simple as hold his hand.

“I need you, Cas,” he says, slotting his fingers through Cas’, wondering if angels suffer from things like rigor mortis in death, because his skin’s so pliant against his now. Dean looks down at the easy way their hands tangle together, and it forces fresh tears from his eyes. How could something that looks so right, and natural, have seemed like the most difficult thing in the world?

“I need you, Cas,” Dean whispers, the words coming out broken and cracked, “I need you; think I’m gonna always need you. I don’t know how many times I’ve gotta say it for you to hear it, but… I’m gonna keep saying it. I’m gonna say it every day, ‘cos I’m… there’s no way I’m getting over this. No way I’m…  

“I don’t care that I’m out of time…”

Dean cries then, really cries, gripping tighter onto Cas’ prone hand as he sits down beside him. He takes a moment to glance out over the lake and wishes hard that they were there in different circumstances. That the house behind them was nothing more than a retreat, a getaway he’d fantasised about with Cas a hundred times.

“I was gonna take you on a road trip,” Dean confesses, giving a bittersweet smile. “I was gonna say, hey, Cas, pick a direction. Pack a toothbrush. We’re going some place. And we’d… every time I imagined it, we ended up in a place like this,”

Dean huffs at the irony, bile budding up in his throat at the reminder that really, he’s the one that’s brought all of this on. He’s the reason Cas is laid out dead beside him, when he shouldn’t have let Sam hold him back, he shouldn’t have, he shouldn’t—

With his free hand pressed over his mouth as though that might calm the sobs wracking through his body, Dean curses himself. Takes all the blame for everything that’s happened, and idly thinks about laying down beside Cas, pleading that he gets to take his place. It’s a stupid, whimsical thought, he knows it. But if there was anything he could give, any chance of doing better by Cas, just one last time, then he’d take it. He’d do anything to have Cas back again, to have him whole. It’s been so long since they just smiled at each other, sat and talked about nothing, that Dean’s half-forgotten what it’s like to hear Cas laugh.

“I wanted to do so much with you, Cas,” Dean cries then, pressing his eyes closed, “I was gonna do everything. Anything you asked. I was gonna… Cas, I was gonna…”

But his words fail him again, and Dean realises he needs to face him, because if he doesn’t, if he doesn’t look at him now when it’s his last chance, he’s only going to have the image of him that’s already in his mind, and that’s not enough, it’ll never be enough.

“Thing is, Cas,” Dean says once he’s round on his knees, arranging Cas’ arm so he can still hold his hand against his lap, as his other presses into his stomach, “I… I was working up to it, you know? To tell you that I… that you… that all that stuff about you being our brother, ‘n all, that it… I mean you’re family, ‘course you are, it’s just… me and you, it’s more than that, it’s so much more.

“I… when I’m with you, it’s like… everything I think I’ve got planned out to say, it just gets… I don’t know,” Dean sighs, closing his eyes, “I just can’t… I freeze up, Cas. I don’t mean to, and hell if I want to, but… every time I get myself ready to talk to you, there’s just… there’s always something getting in the way.

“I wanted… so many times I just wanted to sit you down, talk this out, you know? I… I know I spent a long, long time tryna pretend none of this was happening, but… it was. It is; you’ve gotta know, Cas. You’ve gotta… you’ve gotta know what I was thinking.

“Tell me you’ve not been completely oblivious to me, man,” Dean huffs then, smiling, and raising his hand to pointlessly brush the hair from Cas’ forehead. He lingers there, stroking down over that permanent stubble on his jaw and closing his eyes with a soft cry. How many times has he wanted to do that. How many opportunities has he lost to find out what that felt like?

“Tell me,” he tries again with a hard swallow, “tell me that… you’ve got to have noticed that I… I was different around you to other people. I mean; I tried to be anyway. I… even when I was tryna deny what I was feeling, I was pretty much Captain Obvious, wasn’t I?” he asks, looking down at Cas’ closed eyes and pleading with him to open them.  

“Tell me you noticed,” Dean pleads, allowing himself to cup Cas’ jaw, trace his thumb there over his cheek, and once again he’s tumbling forward, this time dropping his head just beneath his chin.

“I need you, Cas,” he cries there, pressing it into the knot of his tie, breathing him in again and sobbing harder at the stillness of his chest.

“I need you; you know how badly I need you, don’t you, Cas? Cas, please…” and in the oppressive silence of the evening, Dean allows himself to slump down over him, begging him pointlessly to come back.

He’s cried himself dry now, Dean thinks after an endless stretch of time, crumpling in on himself again. He sits up, looks at the mess of tears he’s pressed into Cas’ shirt and trenchcoat, and huffs, reaches out a pointless hand to wipe them over again, then tucks the trenchcoat in a little, as though that might prevent Cas from getting cold.

Resignation begins to wash over Dean then, sweeping in in a calm, blissful wave. It’s so subtle, that it takes Dean a good few minutes of staring at Cas’ face as though that alone can make him open his eyes again, for him to realise that his heart rate is beginning to settle. He can’t allow it—he won’t allow it, Dean thinks in a panic, shuffling on his knees again and pressing his hand back on Cas' chest.

“I’m not giving up, Cas,” Dean denies, giving an adamant shake of his head, “I’m not; I’ll find a way…”

But even as he says the words and goes through his short list of options, Dean knows any of his usual tactics aren’t going to work this time. No crossroad demons, no bargains to be made with Crowley—who is also gone now, he thinks with another painful jolt. And Chuck is just… gone; there is no one else to turn to. There is nothing left that he can try. And that ounce of hope he’s clinging on to needs life breathing into it quickly, before it goes out altogether.  

“I can’t lose you,” Dean chokes out then, falling forward all over again, his arm protesting at the awkward angle he’s got it at because he’s refusing to let go of Cas’ hand, “I can’t,”

Dean’s been hunched over Cas so long, muttering all the words he’d promised himself he’d say to Cas one day until they’re falling over themselves on repeat, the meaning behind them no less for Cas now being gone; so long, that he’s lost track of time, can’t even remember how they got here, really. All he knows is that Cas lacks a heartbeat beneath him, and that the heat is slowly leaving his body.

“Cas,” he cries again, sweeping a hand up and down his chest, refusing to accept it, refusing to admit that this is really Cas leaving him, and that this is a place from which he really can’t come back.  

“Cas,” he pleads, letting go of his stiffening fingers to cup his face, press there as though he’s trying to rouse him, begging his eyes to open one last time; for Cas to look at him as though he thinks Dean is confusing, and that he doesn’t understand why he has tears in his eyes.

“Cas…”

“He is important to you,”

In his vigil by Cas’ side, Dean has shut out everything else. Forgot their purpose there at the house and the new life being born inside that has the potential to rain havoc down on this world. He doesn’t care about any of that though, not with Cas gone, not now that he’s lost his final chance to talk to him.

But even in his grief he is not fully unaware, belatedly registering the footsteps behind him, sensing inquisitive eyes on the back of his neck.

“Yes,” he says, knowing without needing to look that he needs to be honest with this person, his heart giving a slow churn for the realisation of who that might be. “Yeah, he is important,”

“He’s important to _you_ ,” the unfamiliar voice insists, and Dean knows he’s being studied, can practically feel the curiosity rippling in waves against his back.

“Yeah,” Dean says again, because why would he deny it—especially now? “Yeah, he is important to me,”

That silence in the air around him shifts, as though it’s charging with something potent. All Dean’s senses are telling him to spin on his heel, to jump up and prepare himself to strike. But there’s a part of him that’s pleading with him to wait this out, whatever this is, whatever is coming. It might be that spark of hope that’s clinging on to his heart and refusing to give up; he can’t be sure.

“This is… love,” the voice says then, and it’s full of uncertainty, but not in a negative kind of way; more in a sense of trying to understand.  

For so long, Dean has denied how he feels for Cas. Repressed and pushed back all he’s thinking, through fear of judgement, rejection, getting it wrong, and so many other things. But now, now is not the time to be so dishonest with himself.

“Yeah,” he says, willing his voice to be stronger than the whisper that comes out, “yeah. It is,”

“It is different,” the voice announces uncertainly, “from… familial love,” and Dean can’t help but laugh a little at that. Because that’s been his failsafe to hide behind for so long now, that the word _brother_ fell out of his mouth so naturally, he’d managed to convince himself of his own lie. Temporarily, at least, anyway.

“Yeah,” he agrees, swallowing thickly, “it’s… it’s more than that,”

“More,” the voice prompts, demanding an explanation, and Dean knows he’s going to struggle with that. How can he find the words to explain all that Cas is to him? How can he give meaning to all that Cas is in his own right?

“Yes,” he says, smiling down at Cas’ face, and reaching out unthinkingly to pat against his cheek again, “yeah. So much more,”

“You… desire him,”

“Yeah,” Dean laughs with a groan, because there’s really no point denying that either, “yeah, I do. Desire, want, need. Miss,” he adds, choking the word out.

“Miss,” the voice repeats, and it’s possibly more dubious than anything else that’s been said so far.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “I miss him. I miss him all the time,”

“But he is… here,” the voice points out, and Dean has to close his eyes to it, concentrating on the swirl of his thumb against Cas’ stubbled cheek.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “he’s here. But he’s not really here, you know?”

“Of course he is,” the voice says, bordering on impatient, and Dean hears the scuff of feet hitting dirt as they walk.

“I—”

But then Dean is looking up at an unfamiliar man, watching as he rounds and looks down on Cas without emotion.  

“You’re not—” Dean begins to say, his heart beginning to thrum up a protest as he fights for ways to protect Cas’ body even in death. But then the man tilts his head in a way that reminds Dean of someone he really doesn’t want to be thinking about, and before he can protest, throw his body down on top of Cas’ to shield him, the man’s palm is up and out, and light is pouring down from his hand. On to Cas.

“He is here,” the man insists, staring down at Cas in concentration, and Dean falls back a little as that white glow grows to engulf him.  

Dean holds his breath, repeats a thousand pleas under his breath, and keeps perfectly still as he waits.  

The light pulses. Cas twitches. And as Dean looks on, unable to breathe, unable to snatch his gaze away from his face, Cas snaps open his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

“...Cas?”

Cas’ eyes are bleary, unfocused, looking straight past Dean as though he isn’t even there.

“Cas,” he calls again, pleading with him to look at him. Cas’ gaze drifts right past him once again.

“I told you. He is here,”

Though he hates to do so, Dean snatches his eyes away from staring at Cas’ face, and lifts them up to the man towering down over him, wanting to hate him, though for the life revived right in front of him—for the ultimate in second chances—Dean finds that he can’t.  

“...you’re… you’re _Jack_ ,”

Jack makes a noncommittal sound that still manages to come out petulant, and Dean spares a second to wonder what it must be like being born into a world already fully grown. Only a second though, because Cas is finally stirring, moving his arm just enough for it to brush against Dean’s knee as he lifts it, and there’s nothing else in this world that is more deserving of Dean’s attention.

“Cas,” he cries, kneeling over him, cradling his face in disbelief, terrified to trust that the one thing he’s wanted more than anything in his whole life has truly been returned to him.

“Why isn’t he moving quicker?” Jack asks, and Dean doesn’t have to look up to know he’s frowning.

“Just… give him a minute okay?”

“We have work to do,” Jack insists, and Dean’s heart thuds against the idea of Cas doing anything but being there with him.

“Not yet we don’t,” he counters, “it’s too soon. He’s… is he gonna be okay?”

Jack doesn’t say anything, but the impatient click in his throat and the shuffle where he stands says enough. Says Jack already dislikes being doubted. Dean wonders what snapped patience might look like on him, but can’t find it in him to care too much; not with Cas’ cheek under the swirl of his thumb.  

But Cas, Cas is still unfocused, eyes turning this way and that as his limbs begin to stir into re-existence; Dean’s having a hard enough time trying to focus on that.

“Cas…”

Finally, Cas’ eyes lock on him, staring back without any emotion, and Dean starts to fear Jack’s not brought him all the way back.

“Is he—”

“He’ll be well,” Jack says with a small nod and a grim pinch of his lips. So Dean has to hope. Has to put his trust once again in something that every fiber of his being is telling him not to. What kind of an existence must it be, to not have to count on the ones most likely to forever stab you in the back?

“I need a minute,” he says anyway, adjusting a little on his knees, but still not snatching his eyes away from Cas.

“Of course,” Jack answers, sounding contrite, and mumbling, “compassion,” under his breath like it's a lesson he's learned, before walking away with a steady stride that isn’t heavy enough, loud enough, to resonate with what he’s just done for Dean.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, shifting a little closer to him, and Cas’ lips part, parched and like he’s trying to say something. It’s the smallest of movements, but it’s a punch to Dean’s gut, and he can’t hold in the sob of sheer relief that blasts its way out of his throat.

“Why…” Cas tries, but his voice is weak, and cracked. He clears his throat and tries again. “Dean. Why are you crying?”

Dean chokes out another sob and shifts again on his knees, dropping a hand to press on Cas chest, to reassure himself that this time beneath it he can feel a beating heart.

“You left me,” he chokes out, wanting to apologise for the tears he’s raining down over him. Cas watches them fall as though he doesn’t understand them, which just invites even more.

“I didn’t… mean to,” Cas replies after a pause, which does nothing but make Dean choke up all again.

“You were gone, Cas,” he cries, and those tears start falling even harder. It’s like now he’s let the first ones out, all those stored up over the years are demanding their exit as well. Dean feels like his tears for Cas might be endless, and he’s lost all ability to even think about putting a stop to them.

“I know,” Cas says, with caution in his voice, and Dean wants to ask him where he went, what he remembers, what happened. But he has time for that now, Dean thinks, his heart pulsing fresh hope back into his chest. He has time. He has hope. And he has _Cas_.

“Cas…” Dean says again, because it’s the always the first word that falls automatically from his lips. The only thing that’s filling his mind.

“Why do you keep… saying my name?” Cas asks, and it’s such a blast of Cas’ typical dry bewilderment, that it forces a stab of laughter out along with all those tears.

“‘Cos you left me,” he says again, his vision blurring with yet another onslaught of tears, “you left me, and I… I can’t… I just can’t…”

“Can’t what?” Cas asks, his eyes narrowing in suspicion when Dean’s words fail him, then flaring wider in surprise as he seems to belatedly notice Dean is touching him. The way his eyes try to dart to look down at the hands pressed to his cheek and chest is almost comical, Dean thinks, resisting the pull to reach out and wipe the frown from his brow.

“Can’t be without you,” Dean blurts out, since that wall he usually has in place to stop him saying such things to Cas has been obliterated. By the idea that he might not ever get another chance.

“Dean,” Cas says, curious and uncertain, but tinged with his own swell of hope, and it has Dean choking up all over again. He hesitates for a second, then swirls his thumb over Cas' cheek more deliberately, to let him know he's really there too, and isn't willing to break the contact. Cas lifts his head as Dean strokes his other hand down his chest to rest on his stomach.

“Think we can sit you up?” Dean asks, but Cas is following the stroke of his fingers, and Dean has a moment of wondering if it’s too much, of fearing that after everything, after all his delay, maybe his touch is uninvited. But then Cas is lifting his hand, swinging it up from his side unsteadily, and pressing it down over Dean’s against his stomach. Dean snags his fingers in the gaps between his own, and is crying yet again.

“You might need to assist me,” Cas says then, and Dean watches the way he stretches his legs out, like he’s testing to see if everything still works.

“Yeah. Of course,” he says, sliding his hand away reluctantly after a final squeeze, then rearranging himself at Cas’ side, and figuring out how he’s going to help.

With careful, gentle fingers, Dean cradles Cas’ head in his hand for support. His other is out for Cas to clasp against to help haul himself up, and with a nod of encouragement that Cas returns, he braces himself for Cas to move. It isn’t easy; Cas might have been gone for what’s probably only a few minutes, but it feels like he’s being pulled back from another world, not just to sit upright. But then he’s shifting, raising himself up in increments until he’s up. Slumping forward a little with tiredness, and staring down at himself in doubt.

“Cas,” Dean says again, apparently unable to stop, and it calls Cas’ gaze back from observing himself to staring intently at him.

This is the turning point, Dean thinks with a hard swallow, not letting Cas out of his grip. This is the place where everything can change between them forever, or he can rebuild all those walls he’s spent a lifetime constructing, do little more than pat him on the back.

He can’t do that, Dean thinks to himself with a violent shake of his head, and as Cas tracks the movement Dean is shuffling closer still, close enough to wrap Cas in his arms.

It’s an awkward angle, with Dean knelt to his side and Cas’ legs stretched out flat the other way, but it still feels like something incredible. Dean’s got one hand wrapped and tucked beneath Cas’ armpit as though he might try to escape, and the other is gripped tight across his back. And his face is buried into the back of his neck, revelling in the scent of him, the swallow of his throat, the evidence that he is really, truly, honestly back.

It takes Cas a few seconds, but then he’s awkwardly lifting his own arms, wrapping them around Dean with caution, blasting out his own relieved sigh; and if that doesn’t make Dean hold on tighter still.

“What… what does this mean?” Cas asks, and Dean’s presented another opportunity to pass things off, to be dismissive of the things he’s feeling, and pretend to Cas he’s nothing but relieved to get his best friend back. He is that, of course, but he can’t do that either, can no longer face living this unlivable lie. He can’t even pretend he doesn’t know what Cas is meaning, brush it off as something he couldn’t understand. He doesn’t want to anymore, he adds to himself with huff, indulging in another squeeze.

“This,” Dean says, pressing it into the skin of his neck and hoping the gesture isn’t too much, “this means that you and me have got a world of stuff to talk about. We’ve got… I’ve got a ton of things that I’ve… that I’ve needed to tell you, forever,”

“Jack said we have work to do,” Cas says then, though he makes no move to pull back from him. In fact, he’s circling a soothing palm over Dean’s back, as though he’s done it a thousand times before, and Dean closes his eyes to it, shuffles into him tighter still.

“I don’t care,” Dean replies, “I don’t care about any of that. Anything. I just… I need to get you back, Cas,”

“But I am back, Dean,” Cas points out, and Dean’s heart gives a thud as he hesitantly leans his head to the side against his own.

“Yeah,” Dean chokes out, squeezing tighter still, “yeah, you are,”

“Dean,” Cas says then, and Dean worries that he’s crushing him. He pulls back only to grip around his forearms, not willing to get any further away. And when he looks at him, Cas is smiling; a beautiful, confused, surprised smile that has Dean’s heart pounding all over again. And from the look on his face, Cas is beginning to understand why.

“We need to talk, Cas,” he says, “really talk,” and he raises his hand to cup Cas’ cheek again, his breath catching for the way Cas’ eyes flutter closed.

“We will,” Cas promises, raising his hand to slot over Dean’s, “we will talk,”

“Not later,” Dean demands, “not tomorrow. Not… in between other conversations. I need us to do this, now,”

“Of course,” Cas replies, and there’s a lightness in his voice to accompany the budding brightness in his eyes, “however, this is not the most… comfortable position,”

“Shit,” Dean mutters under his breath, pulling back and beginning to stand so he can guide Cas to his feet. It takes Cas a minute, his hands grasping at Dean as he rights himself as though he can’t do it any other way. But then they’re stood, facing one another, staring each other down, and Dean’s unconvinced he’s ever been in a better place in his life.

First hesitating, then reaching out boldly, Cas rests his hands on Dean’s hips, and the touch makes Dean stumble forward, dropping his head down on Cas’ shoulder with a shudder, the simple heat of his palms against him feeling more vital than anything Dean thinks he’s ever felt.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks, and if that doesn’t have Dean wrapping his arms tight around him, pulling him into a crushing hug. Cas’ hands slide to loop around his back, and in that silence of the evening by the lake house, they hold on to one another. Holding each other up, and whole.

The door slams behind them enough to make them both jump, but they don’t pull back far from each other. Cas’ hands return to holding his waist, and Dean shifts until his hands are tucked over his shoulders. He hears two sets of footfall approaching, and his former self yells for him to step away, pull back from Cas so no one can see how he’s got him so vulnerable.

But he doesn’t.  

Aware of who’s watching, and that this is it now; that he can’t turn back, or even pretend to change his mind, Dean smiles at Cas. Beaming, jubilant, triumphant, relieved to see Cas echoing it, even if his smile is a little more cautious than his own.

“Hey,” Dean says softly, adjusting his stance a little, “how’re you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Cas replies, but it’s quiet, and so unsure. Cas has had Dean pull back from him so many times in the past, that he has to—he has to be fearing that’s about to happen this time as well, Dean thinks, his heart aching for all the times he could have taken that look from his eyes. Just by giving in to what he wants; it’s not like it’s anything complicated.

“We’re gonna talk about this,” he repeats, because he needs Cas to know he’s serious about this. There have been near misses far too many times, and this final one, well. This feels like a final warning. That if he doesn’t get things fixed between them now, then there will never be another time.

“I am sure we have… things we need to be doing,” Cas says, and Dean doesn’t miss the way his eyes dart over his shoulder, to where Sam and Jack are getting ever closer to them. And it’s true, Dean thinks; Mom’s gone, missing in some… dimension or something with Lucifer. Crowley’s dead, Rowena too; and that’s just the problems they’re facing from today. There’s so much they have to get fixed in their world, that’s equally more important than anything.

Not more important than this, Dean argues with himself. Not more important than having Cas stood there before him, alive, and willingly in the grip of his arms.

“Cas…” he says again, and this time Cas’ smile is more certain. His fingers splay a little wider at his waist, and he tilts his head up a fraction in a show of growing confidence. Dean has to show him that confidence has a base.

Dean lifts his hands, luxuriating in the feel of stubble grazing over his palms as he pulls Cas towards him, and with a smile that he hopes shows Cas just how overdue he thinks this is—how much he wants him—Dean closes the small gap between them, and claims his mouth in a kiss.    

 


End file.
